


Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated

by Jam_chan



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Based on historical events, Gen, Hamilton reported dead, How Do I Tag, I did a lot of research, Schyulkill River, but it's probably inaccurate anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9978989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jam_chan/pseuds/Jam_chan
Summary: Based on that one time when Hamilton went to destroy a flour mill and ended up being reported dead, only to show up dripping wet after they read the report. Like, seriously? Perfect timing for Hammie.Also, PLEASE tell me if I messed up. I literally just wrote this in the past hour. I barely checked it. So PLEASE tell me what I can fix.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Schuylkill River](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216741) by [newtmasofficial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtmasofficial/pseuds/newtmasofficial). 



_**September 17, 1777** _

Feather pens scratched against paper incessantly through the command tent. No pen was faster than that of one Alexander Hamilton. Ink was strewn across the letter in front of him as his quick scrawl filled the page.

The other Aide de camps were writing at a more subdued pace, as they had been working for more than eight hours at this point. Alexander, as per the usual these days, had skipped lunch with his fellows in order to complete more work. Several times, his colleagues had thought to make him stop, but he worked with such fervor, they knew it would be useless.

Usually, they had three options at such a point as this. The first thing one of them would do in this situation was to fetch his friend Lafayette or have the new aide de camp he had taken to quickly and have hem put a stop to it. Second, if it continued for more than eight hours, was to report Hamilton’s lack of self care to the General himself. They had standing orders to do so if he got too out of hand. As it was, they were left no choice but to let him work to his heart's content. Both of his friends were out of camp, and the General was not to be disturbed under any circumstances that were not dire in nature.

Hamilton had become a beloved member of Washington’s “military family.” Though he was very young, he was, “Frank, affable, intelligent and brave, young Hamilton became the favorite of his fellow soldiers.” (This is a quote from William Sullivan, a REAL person!)

It was due to this fondness of the man and, frankly, knowledge that Hamilton would work himself into the ground that Hamilton's comrades were even considering approaching the General.

“I don't know. I wouldn't want to bother the General.” John Walker commented. As all the Johns in the command tent, he was called by his surname.

“Yeah. I know. But Hammie is going to work himself to death if he keeps this up!” Tench Tilghman replied. He was informally called by his first name, an oddity in the army.

John Fitzgerald just hummed in response. He was torn between wanting to help protect his fellow aide and respecting his privacy.

They sipped their beverages while they stretched their backs. They had been hunched over all day, writing and rewriting.

“We’d better get back in there. We have so much work to do.”

“Laurens should be returning tomorrow morning, right? Maybe he can snap Ham out of it.” Fitzgerald reminded them.

“Yeah. Should be.”

They ended up working until the sun set. Hamilton lit a candle and insisted he was going to turn in after a short while. The scratching of his pen filled the silence for hours before they heard a conversation between Washington and Hamilton start. They couldn't make out the words, but when he came to collect his coat and a few other odds and ends from their tent, they learned he was being sent out tonight so that he could get to his mission by around dawn with some other men.

This wasn't anything new, to be sent on a sabotage mission in the middle of the night. But for Washington to send his aide who had been working all day and barely sleeping or eating? That was a bit off.

But Hamilton had been on missions in similar states. He'd be fine.

**_September 19, 1777_ **

Two days later, when he was meant to be back with the group that went with him, they were slightly more worried. Even the General seemed slightly off put at every messenger that passed through that wasn't to deliver news of a successful mission. So when Henry Lee’s letter arrived, they watched his face closely as he read it over. Only his lips pursing gave any sign as to his thoughts.

“Sir?” Laurens, who had returned late yesterday morning, asked. The General was staring at the paper blankly, but looked up when he was addressed. He looked back at the letter and started reading.

“General George Washington, I regret to inform you of the deaths of two men under my command.” Laurens lost focus for a moment but focused in time to hear, “...and young Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton. The Lt. Col. ensured an escape route for his men by pushing a boat from the shore of the Schuylkill River while myself and others retreated by horseback. He was struggling against a violent current, increased by the recent rains. Though there were casualties and wounds inflicted upon us, those losses that we suffered would have been significantly higher were it not for the Lt. Col. and his actions. His body was not recovered as he was swept away with the strong current of the river.” The General stopped there.

Silence reigned through the tent now. No speeding scratch of a quill or steady presence of their youngest member. Never again.

The General held his head in his hands.

No one said a word.

Life outside the tent could be heard clearly. Chatter, laughter, footsteps going to and fro. A knock came from the tent pole and before anyone could tell whoever he was to go away and come back later, the flap opened.

Shock. Disbelief. Happiness.

Standing, dripping wet in front of them, with a scowl on his face, was Alexander Hamilton himself.

“Hamilton?” It was the General that broke the silence.

“Sir?”

“How are you alive?” He held the letter in his hand higher. “I just received news of your death!”

“Henry Lee?”

“Yes…”

“Yes, well. It's understandable that he would think me dead, as the current had swept my feet out from under me and washed me nearly a mile downstream. Thankfully, I came upon a settlement and was able to pen a letter to Congress in Philadelphia, recommending evacuation. I didn't believe I had the time to spare to ask for a change of clothes, so I simply payed for a mount and returned here to report. I-”

“Before you continue, Hamilton, get changed. Your teeth are chattering.” The General, in an unusual display of affection, brought Hamilton into a tight hug. Laurens joined shortly after, along with everyone else in the tent. Laughter rang out. Relief flooded everyone's veins. There were a few tears involved.

_Thank you, God. Alexander came home._

Washington’s thought was echoed by many that night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I wish it was a bit more emotional, but whatever. Leave a comment; they give me life!


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